Breaking the Sound Barrier
by VladmiraI
Summary: A Play on Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist.
1. Chapter 1

Twilight was painting the skies in orange and yellow, the clouds matching them like water vapor mirrors. The pounding of bass drums and the fizzling cracks of feedback were tainting the afternoon silence and the crowd was jumping and thrashing and running so I thought the ground might split under the pressure. We're breaking the sound barrier.

And I'm loving every moment of this. This movement, this oneliness, this friction. My body is being hauled and shoved and thrown and kicked and I scream, but not in pain. This is my element. This is my home. I rake my hands through my hair as I slump against the wall, exausted, as the last chords of the song fade out into yet another long stream of ear-splitting feedback. The band takes their bows and starts to pack up their stuff and I watch as their drummer walks off-stage and starts making out with some guy some band whose name I don't remember and I turn away, suddenly reminded of my solitude. That moment of oneliness is over, and I realize that it's over, and the fact hits me like a ton of bricks in the forehead. The headache that resulted would have been enough to knock me to the floor, had I not been there already and I put my head between my knees and moan in anguish.

The next band is setting up now, and I lift my head to watch them do a quick soundcheck. The guitarist is standing awkwardly in front of the microphone, reciting a set of 1-2-3's and I see a group of young teenage girls who are oggling him like they've never seen a person count before. His eyes are vacant, yet searching, though what he's searching for, I have no idea. I imagine it's a girl. I imagine she's pretty, but that's all she is. Just like every other groupie chick there ever was. The other bandmates take their places and I realise that this guy is the bassist--not the guitarist-- and the name of their band is 'The Fuck-Offs'. They have no drummer. I also realise I've never heard of them before and when they start playing I realise I wish I had. The singer is belting out these half-assed lyrics--"I just wanna fuck the man"? C'mon, dude. The bassist is tripping here at the end. He's distracted and I can tell by the look on his face he hopes no one noticed. And I'd hate to be the one to tell him that it was noticed, but probably only by me.

I scan the room for my best friend, Cera, the blood pounding in my head making it hard to concentrate. I spot her by the exit, hanging off of some guy I know as Austin. They're eyeing eachother like they're about to run the hell out of this club to go fuck in the backseat of my car. I take this as my cue to leave before they do just that. Or at least hide my car.

"Hey, bitch." I greet her just like a best friend would. She's had a fair amount of vodka, I can smell it on her from here. She smiles at me, and it's lopsided, and yes, she's definitely been drinking.

"Oh! Austin, thisis my frind." Her words are slurring slightly and I roll my eyes. "Lynne." She finished her sentence on an off-key note.

"He knows that," I tell her. She looks at me, understanding dawning on her. "and we need to get home." Part of me felt guilty at making her leave this magnificent specimen of a boy. His dark gold hair hung down in his brown eyes and he had the same lopsided smile that my best friend had. I could tell by the way his fingers were linked with hers that he didn't intend to leave her for anything just yet. But, all the same, Cera didn't need to make mistakes tonight. She could do that when I wasn't on watch.

They did make a striking couple. She was tall, skinny, and beautiful. He was about the same height with the puppy dog eyes and perfect features that made girls so jealous of the girl on his arm. (I was no exception to this)

"C'mon, L, lemme stay just this once. I have cab money. Please?" I bit my lip in thought, dreading the drive home alone and the thought of her being where I couldn't save her if she fell on her face. But I looked at Austin and I looked at her and both had that same irresistable puppy-dog stare plastered to their faces and it suddenly occured to me that I wasn't her mother and I couldn't make her do anything and I couldn't stop her from doing anything either.

"Fine," I said. I looked at him, my maternal instict trumping my idea of letting her have ultimate freedom and I say, "Keep her safe." He gives me an odd look, like I've just told him to tie his shoes, something so habitual he'd never forget to do so, and I know he will. So I walk away, leaving them sprawled against the club wall.

I headed for the bar with the intent of ordering something caffinated to clear my head. On my way, I bump into some girl in these bright yellow tights and pink heels and I gag inwardly. The outfit is grotesque--she looks like she got dressed in the dark.I see that bassist guy kissing some plain Jane looking girl over by the bar.

"Move it, bitch." Mismatch girl spits at me as she pulls her Hollister model boytoy after her like a ragdoll and shoves me aside and I fall into someone else. I'm almost positive I'll hit the floor, but I'm suspended by that someone's frail arms. I scramble to my feet to see my saviour. He's taller than me by a few inches, and he's got those same brown eyes Austin has, but his hair is dark and curls perfectly down to his shoulders. I regain my breath quickly to mutter a thank you, but before I can walk away his friend has me by the shoulder, smiling like a lunatic--and for a second I wonder if he is.

"Hey, Bill, thissone's not ba-bad, man." I gulp. I hate these types of things. In my head I'm going over the Tai-kwon-do my parents made me take when I was 11. This guy smells like Captain Morgan and cheap cigarettes and I don't like it. The guy I fell into must be Bill. I wish I had the nerve to speak up for myself right now.

"She's a piece if I ever saw one." The drunk one looks me up and down like he's appraising a cow he's about to slaughter. I gulp nervously. "A pretty one too. Whdday think, Bill? Bill. Bill!" The one named Bill just glares at the drunk one like he wants to kill him. He's not drunk, I can tell. I finally regain my voice and tsk in disgust at the two of them before putting a finger in the drunk one's face.

"The only luck you'll be getting from me tonight is that you get to leave unscathed." The drunk one starts laughing hysterically and I cross my arms.

"Leave her alone, Johnny." Bill tells him. I thank him with my eyes. Johnny rolls his eyes and proceeds to turn away to the bar. Bill turns around to face me with an embarassed smile on his face. "I'm so sorry about my friend. Name's William."

"Lynne."


	2. Chapter 2

Ch2

"Lynne." I spit back at him. Though I can tell he means well, that Johnny character has me so worked up I'd punch John Stamos in the face if he was standing in front of me and I love John Stamos. "Now, if you'll excuse me--" I start to say as I push past William toward the bar but he catches my arm and I swear my temperature skyrockets and my face is beat red. I whip around to face him again. "What do you WANT?!" And I'm not yelling because of the music. He looks at me, his eyes wide with surprise as id that wasn't the reaction he expected and I watch his Adam's apple bob as he gulps nervously. He's talking to me, but I'm not listening, just watching his throat move in time with his jaw and it calms me down a little.

"--Can I at least buy you a drink to make up for it?" I catch the end of his apology. I eye him suspiciously, wondering if he's just trying to get me drunk so he can take advantage of me and then leave me first thing in the morning so I can wake up and find him gone without a trace.

Or maybe my jaded other half is overanalysing again and he's really trying to be nice.

"No strings attatched?" I say. A noticable wave of relief washes over his face and he smiles crookedly and it makes his eyes light up in the oddest way...

"No strings attatched. But might I ask you to sit with me?" Frigid, jaded Other Half is back in full force, but I shove her down. "You never risk anything--you always take the easy way out." I heard Cera invading my psyche again and I shake her off but she's most likely right so I say, "Sure."

William leads me to a less-crowded section of the club and sits me down at a small, graffitied table with a short, "Don't move." and runs off to the bar. While he's gone, I scan over the graffiti on the table, noting the masses of 'So-and-so was here's and crudely drawn penises. One catches my eye and it reads, 'Hailie and Joel 4ever' and I wonder if they got their forever. I imagine Hailie is a petite little blonde girl with big grey eyes and overdone make-up--a lot like the girl I ran into at the bar, but a much more tasteful dresser-- and Joel is this closet-gay-pretending-to-be-straight boy who broke her heart a day after he wrote this. My shoulders stoop a little.

"Back." William hands me my drink--some bright green liquid in a martini-glass. I stare it it. It has a cherry in it. I love cherries. I look up at him and wonder if I've ever met him before and I wonder how he knew I loved bright-colored drinks and cherries. I take it gingerly between my fingers and sip at it. It's rather bitter despite it's color, which leads me to believe that maybe everything isn't as good as it looks. Then I wonder how good I really am because I look like shit right now. I nervously attempt to shove my too-short pixie cut behind my ears without much luck, self-consciously turning my face away from his even though I'm secretly picturing him naked in the process.

The silence must be killing him because he says, "Do you come here often?" and I laugh and some of the artificial green liquid comes up my nose. It burns like hell, but it's so cheesy I forget how much it hurts and I say, "What the fuck?" And his face reddens up to his ears because he knows he just hit the low of the low in pick-up lines. I smile and take another sip of this horrible-green drink, casting my eyes down to avoid causing him further embarassment. After all, he did buy me a drink and at least he realized his mistake.

"It's okay," I say. My feet are fighting with themselves under the table--a nervous habit I developed while I was dating a guy in high school-- and I'm almost sure I'll have bruises tomorrow morning from the brutal beating they're giving themselves. "Do you wash your pants with Windex?" He seems relieved I've made a joke out of it and he smiles and toasts me.

"No, but did you get yours from space?" Now we're both laughing and he's put one of his own feet between mine to break up the fight they're having while I'm not looking. I take a second to admire the light that floods his face when he laughs. He looks happy. Like I should be. And he has a gorgeous smile. Like I would have if I wasn't scared to death of dentists. Come to think of it, though, I don't think I've ever been...

"I guess I should properly introduce myself," he tells me as he's tapping his fingers on the table. I've noticed he does that a lot. It's a methodical ba-da-bump-bump and it's driving me insane, so I take his hand in mine and smile. He smiles back. "My name is William H. Bereaves II." He adopts a British accent for the short statement. I grin at him and we both crack up laughing.

"My name is Lynne A. Daviess," If we weren't already holding hands, I would have shaken with him. His eyes match his leather jacket. "Why are you wearing a jacket, leather no less, in this hot ass building?" I ask suddenly. He's caught off guard.

"Because if I leave it somewhere, it'll get stolen. Duh." He replies shortly. "Why are you wearing what you wear?"

"I don't feel like running around naked right now." Stalemate. "But if you want me to..." He raises an eyebrow and shakes his head. I realise how bad that must have sounded out loud and I assume the alcohol must be making my subconscience leak into my common sense. All my thought are strung together.

"We'll have to see about that."


End file.
